Paint
by SoftPurple Sherlockian
Summary: The boys have to do a spot of redecorating after a particularly dodgy experiment goes awry.


"How," John asked, "could this have possibly happened?" The angry doctor stood back and looked at the scorch mark on the pair's wall. "I thought we agreed there would be no experiments in the bedroom?"

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow up and John felt his face flush.

"You know what I mean."

"There wasn't anywhere else to do it, John," Sherlock tried explaining. "How was I supposed to know the acetone would catch so quickly?"

"How were you -? Because it's acetone!" John all but shouted. "Bugger," he spoke in a calmer tone, "you know Mrs. Hudson's going to raise the rent because of this, right?"

The detective dismissively waved his hand, much to John's annoyance.

"Look at it this way, John, now you have an excuse to repaint the room. You've been hinting at it, badly I might add, for the last several months. You should be thanking me actually."

John, knowing there was no sense in fighting a losing battle, pinched the bridge of his nose and hung his head in defeat. "Fine, just… fine, but you're coming with me to pick out the paint colour."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but John cut him off. "Nope," he said, "I don't want to hear it. It's your own bloody fault and the least you could do is help pick a colour for _our_ room.

Sherlock clenched his jaw and nodded, it was pointless trying to argue with his boyfriend once his mind was made up about something, and Sherlock knew that if he tried, he'd only end up paying for it later behind closed doors.

"It's called 'Eggplant'," the detective said as he held out the paint swatch for John to see.

"It's hideous."

Sherlock scowled, "it's the same shade as my shirt that you like so much."

"That's different," John mumbled, and went back to staring at the hundreds of different colour options in front of him. He plucked a yellow out of the stack and handed it over to his partner. "How about this one?"

The taller man scrunched up his nose in disgust, "it's pastel!" He spat out in horror.

"It's yellow," John objected.

"No," Sherlock corrected, "it's 'Butter crème'. One shade of at least fifty yellows, and we're absolutely _not_ painting our bedroom with it."

The pair had been at this for the last hour. John should've known it wouldn't be an easy task, nothing with Sherlock ever was, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

"You know what? Fine, I give up," John grabbed the grey swatch that was an exact match of the existing colour on the wall at 221B. "Let's just get this and go home, yeah?"

The duo waited as the man behind the counter mixed up the pant and then headed back to their flat.

The two stood back and admired their handiwork, or rather, John's handiwork. Sherlock couldn't be torn away from his precious experiment in the kitchen long enough to help add a coat on the wall to cover up the char marks left behind by the small chemical fire that the detective had caused the day before. That was perfectly fine with John, it probably would've ended in a row, and besides, this gave the doctor all the ammunition he needed.

"Sherlock?" He asked innocently enough.

"Mmm?"

"Open the windows to let some of the paint fumes out of here."

The detective wordlessly walked across the room and raised the window, allowing the sounds down from the streets below to permeate the air. When he turned back around, he was met by John's heated stare and mentally prepared himself for whatever happened next.

John wouldn't be unnecessarily rough with him, but his irritation would spill over into their love making none the less. If Sherlock was being honest with himself, there were times when he'd intentionally aggravate his partner for this sole reason.

"Come here."

John's voice had taken on a huskier tone and Sherlock gravitated towards it.

When Sherlock came to stand directly in front of him, John lifted both arms over his head and the detective lifted the paint splattered V-neck shirt over the smaller man's head. During his time away, Sherlock had acquired several scars of his own, and to him, John was beautiful, brokenness and all.

The doctor pulled Sherlock's face down for a bruising kiss, no build up, just a hard clash of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance, something that John would always win, but the battle for it was just as exciting for the pair as the inevitable outcome was.

"You could've come in here and helped me," John said, trailing open mouthed kisses along Sherlock's neck before biting down hard enough to leave a blood bruise.

The detective's only response was to groan as John's teeth sank into his skin. "S-sorry," he finally got out.

"No you're not," the doctor chuckled and licked a strip across his lover's throat to his shoulder, "but I think you should make it up me."

Instead of answering, Sherlock found himself biting his lip and vigorously nodding his head in agreement.

John took a small step back and looked up at his partner with lust filled eyes. "On your knees," he said after a moment of taking in the sight of tousled black curls and swollen lips in front of him.

The detective sunk to the floor so that he was eye level with John's cock, already straining against the fabric of his jeans. It never ceased to amaze Sherlock how hard John could get simply from snogging.

Feeling the sense of urgency radiating from John, Sherlock wasted no time in lowering the zip and reaching his fingers inside to free John's prick from the confides of the trousers. Sherlock made no comment when he came in contact with John's cock, the usual barrier of pants were obviously not present. Instead, he lifted a quizzical eyebrow and continued to completely withdraw him.

John just gave him a cheeky grin and rotated his hips until the tip of his prick was centimetres from his lovers mouth.

Sherlock instinctively licked his lips, wetting the passage and making it more pleasurable for John to sink into.

The doctor steadied the base of his cock with his hand and traced the detective's lips with the blunt head, spreading a small bead of precome, adding to their shine.  
Sherlock teased the slip with his tongue, waiting for john to lose control and simply _take_.

An appreciative moan escaped John's mouth and he jerked his hips forward. To anybody else, it would appear that the doctor's resolve was slipping, but Sherlock knew better. Yes, John had started thrusting into his mouth, but he was stopping just shy of what he knew Sherlock could take.

'_This won't do,'_ the detective thought and hollowed his cheeks in an attempt to add more suction. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip and bobbed his head in earnest, determined to send John into a frenzy. Any other time Sherlock would've savoured this, would've taken his time teasing his lover. Planting little kisses along his shaft, gently sucking his bollocks, humming softly around John's cock to send tiny vibrations through his partners body, but there would be time for that later, right now they wanted hard and they wanted fast.

John's hands were clenched into fists at his side and Sherlock took them in his own before placing them on either side of his head. He glanced up to see John locking eyes with him and when the doctor tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls and gave and experimental tug, Sherlock let out an obscene moan as he held John's gaze and continued moving his head up and down, taking John deeper with each thrust.

Using his eyes to silently plea with John to take what he needed, Sherlock would over exaggerate his appreciation every time his lover pushed into his mouth with force. Eventually, John made the connection and started enthusiastically fucking Sherlock's face, pulling his hair harder with each thrust.

Completely lost in his own pleasure, John didn't even register with Sherlock pulled off with a loud 'pop' and started wanking him with his hand. When he finally looked down at his lover, the detective was wretched. His eyes were blown, his cheeks flush, his lips red and his chin covered in spit, the sight alone was enough to send him over the edge and he tried warning Sherlock so he could move.

The detective merely looked up and John and brought himself closer to John's cock, encouraging him to come right there. Streaks of white painted Sherlock's face, spurting out and landing on his cheeks, lips, and there was even a considerable amount standing out against the black of his hair.

There in the middle of the room that smelled of paint and sex the couple smiled at each other and John lowered himself and captured Sherlock's mouth with his own for a searing kiss, the taste of himself still thick on his lover's lips.


End file.
